


The Last Five Years

by chocolatcwings



Category: The Last Five Years (2014), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hang on to your hats kiddos, Heartbreak, Honestly I'm really writing this to hurt my own feelings apparently, Implied Sexual Content, Infidelity, Marriage, the last five years au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 08:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13586490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatcwings/pseuds/chocolatcwings
Summary: "where can i turn? covered with scars i did nothing to earn. and maybe somewhere there's a lesson to learn -- but that wouldn't change the fact. that wouldn't speed the time once the foundation's cracked. and i'm still hurting."the story about a man, a woman, how they fell in love, and how they fell out.A Kim Namjoon/Reader fic based off of the musical/movie The Last Five Years.





	The Last Five Years

 

It was _cold._

 

You were used to the heat not being too high in the winter, but this was almost frigid – at least, that's what it felt like. There was almost a tinge of surprise to your face when you noticed that you couldn't see your breath create small clouds of fog once you exhaled, but you were sure that wouldn't last long. The house was quiet. You could hear the echo of the door closing throughout the entire first floor. You stood still, because the world was still. At least, **your** world was.

 

Keys dropped into the basket next to the door. Shoes were toed off and left on the mat. Not a sound broke through the silence that you were sure had enveloped this once loud and bright home. Jaw stiffened. You walked forward, into the living room. No lights – had the house always been so _gray?_ Quiet steps moved past untouched photographs, ones that you realized were causing you to avert your gaze. The only sound were the cars outside, and even that felt as though it was all muffled. Some white noise. Maybe you were holding your breath, because you couldn't hear that either.

 

It's been **four days** since Namjoon left.

 

Four days since five years had been thrown away, what you consider to be tossed aside like a small rag doll that one just happened to outgrow. You reached your desk, the one you spent nights slumped over, eyes pouring over the words that he would write. You loved him enough to lose precious hours of sleep for him. Now you were losing those hours for other reasons. With a clenched fist, you noticed the small piece of paper left there, a stark white against the dark wood. You didn't want to read it – you already knew what it said.

 

Every step you took in the apartment felt as though you were taking one step further into a pool of syrup. At first, it wasn't so terrible – the farther you traveled, however, the slow you went. You realized that the shore was miles away. You would drown on the stairs. Fingers hesitated on the railing before you thought better of it, retreating into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Jungkook had offered to come with you and really, you should've taken him up on it. He was worried and you couldn't blame him – after all, you haven't even shed one tear yet. Maybe it was the shock. Maybe it was the fact that you had already cried enough over the pas few years that you had no tears left to give. Throat tightened by just a fraction, because when you reached for the kettle, it wasn't there. It's usual place on the burner sat empty now. Your brow furrowed. This was the most unexpected part of this trip.

 

_Did he really take that?_

 

There was a stutter in your movements, a long pause as your brain had to break out of its muscle memory and become solution oriented for now. You grabbed your mug, filled it up with water, and placed it in the microwave. Blank faced. Heart beat just a bit faster. You were always the one that made the tea and yet, he was the one that now had the kettle. You brought out your phone as the hum of the microwave soothed you for just a bit, thumb flicking through the texts you still haven't responded to even after a week of them sitting in your inbox. Your mother was concerned. You friends were trying to seem chipper. Nothing from Namjoon. But then, of course, why would he want to speak to you in the first place?

 

He seemed so eager to get away.

 

Your eyes had almost glazed over when the beep broke through your concentration, causing your phone to slip out of your palm and onto the cool marble counter you had been leaning on. For a moment, you forgot where you were. The sound was jarring, your brows rising and falling with the rate of your heartbeat before finally, you moved to grab your cup. Tea bag in. Add honey. Stir. Sip. The small routine brought back some kind of normalcy if only for these few minutes. Jungkook had tried to call, most likely to ask if you changed your mind. You didn't answer because of course you did. But this was something you needed to do alone.

 

Feet carried you into the living room where you turned to sit on the couch, avoiding the pillows and blankets that were tucked neatly into corners. With one movement, you would smell him again. Just one slip up and you would be drowning in memories. It's why you haven't so much as turned on the lights.

 

So you sat there, mug cradled in both of your hands, eyes staring at the window as if you expected a figure to come walking past with a whistle on his lips. About five seconds later, that's when your heart began its slow journey to bottoming out. Because you would never see such a scene again. Phone buzzed on the coffee table and this time, you didn't ignore it. Shaky fingers took it and answered the call. You didn't realize that you were breathless when you heard your own voice.

 

“H-Hello?”

 

“Y/N! I was worried for a second, you can't **do** that.” The lecturing voice on the other end of the line was almost enough to soothe you, but your gaze had not moved even an inch from the window. It was almost like praying at this point. What wouldn't you give to see it one more time?

 

“Do what, Jungkook?” You asked, attention finally being pulled to the sound of his voice. You couldn't lose yourself in daydreams this time – you were here for a reason other than torturous nostalgia.

 

“Not answer your phone when I call! You promised that we would talk at _two thirty_... I was nervous something happened.” You knew the truth. He was afraid that you finally broke down, that the dam had given way to the never ending tears he swore up and down you would someday cry. You heard him talking to Seokjin on the phone about your progress, how it terrified him that the only emotion you had recently shown was simply irritation that the grocery store had been out of pizza rolls. It's been four days. The dam was still holding strong. You sighed, putting down your tea and then rubbing at the side of your face.

 

“I'm sorry – I was just a bit busy.” A lie, but what did you care at this point? He could tell in your voice that you were exhausted. When was the last time you really slept?

 

“Listen, I'm at the coffee shop right now. Are you sure you don't want me to come help you? It'll take less time with two people and then you won't have to be alone there.” Every logical part of your body knew that he was right. But still, a protest sat on your tongue just begging to be released. This had been your home – it seemed wrong to have another person come into this place while it was full of grief and mourning. You were currently sitting Shiva for a now dead life. There was nothing but silence, and you wouldn't admit how grateful you were that he was letting you take the time to decide just what you wanted. Eyes lifted up towards a picture on the wall. Maybe you had disassociated too much in the past thirty minutes, because you saw your own face and barely recognized it.

 

“Okay. Come over,” you finally mumbled into the phone. Not too much was said after, save for your coffee order, before the phone was placed back on the table and your body retreated back into the couch cushion. Tea had been forgotten. You had lost any semblance of an appetite anyway.

 

He had always teased you for how you perched yourself in a seat, legs tucked beneath you and body pressed into the corner of whatever chair you had claimed as a home. He commented that it looked as though you were trying to make yourself as small as possible. You agreed – somehow, you felt guilty for taking up space. The feeling only got worse over time. He had no problem sprawling out, making himself right at home in any place. He was all limbs and no grace, but you found it beautiful all the same. You could almost hear the bell of his laugh, head picking up. Eyes at the window. There was nothing, save for the distant bark of a dog. You weren't sure if you were happy or heartbroken that he wasn't there, but you were sure it was for the best.

 

There was nothing the two of you could say now that would change things anyway.

 

Soft gaze moved back to the note, the one you had previously refused to touch. There was no reason for him to leave that unless he was trying to hurt you on purpose. But there was one thing you knew about your husband, and that was that every time he had hurt you – it had been completely accidental. The truth was just that Kim Namjoon was very good at making accidents. It was instinct that propelled you forward, forgetting your drink and your phone on the table as you once more made your way to the desk. You picked up the note. The paper was thick, his “fancy paper”, you recalled him once saying. It was specifically used for only the most important things. The fact that he thought this was important enough to use almost made you sick – it's not as though he thought many things regarding your relationship were so important.

 

Fingertips grazed over the edge of where it was folded over before something that felt like courage took over your movements and opened it up, revealing the slow and concentrated writing. He wasn't the best when it came to having neat handwriting, but what he lacked in neatness he surely made up for in his art. Perhaps the opposite could be said for you. Throat was just a fraction tighter now, making it more difficult to swallow anything and you wondered if this was a good idea.

 

Of course it wasn't. But since when did that stop you?

 

You let go of a shaky breath, other hand moving to flatten out the letter before you heard the tell tale sign of the front door being opened. With a silent curse, you folded the letter up once more and stuck it into the back pocket of your jeans, turning to face the intruder.

 

“Jungkook, you almost gave me a heart attack --” Eyes lingered on the figure. He wasn't who you were expecting. But apparently, the same went for you. Namjoon was staring at you in your shared living room, a bag slung over his shoulder. It was the first time you've seen him since the last time, which felt like such a moronic thought that you wanted to kick yourself, but it still rang true. It's been days since you saw him. It's been an entire week since you spoke. It didn't seem like much was changing. Just like that, every muscle within you had tightened to the point of being painful. You couldn't move even if you wanted to.

 

“Sorry,” came his familiar, deep voice. You hated it in this moment. You wished that he had stayed silent. After all, he had gone this long. “I just... Forgot something.” You noticed the way his eyes flickered behind you, towards the desk. Shame covered your cheeks in a deep pink before you pulled the note from out of your pocket and you showed him the paper.

 

“This? You can take it back if that's what you came for. I didn't read it.” And you hated yourself for that. Maybe you should've read it the moment you saw it. Maybe there was a reason why he was trying to take it back. He bounced forward on his feet as though he was going to remove it from your grip, but something stopped him. His jaw tightened – a tell tale sign that he was unsure. Unfocused. Trying too hard. You inhaled through your nose, terrified that he would hear how rough your breathing pattern was.

 

“No... Never mind. I want you to have that.”

 

“How generous.” You couldn't help the small dose of sarcasm that wrapped itself around your voice. It was a defense mechanism, and not one that you were the most proud of. He wasn't either, not in this moment at least. His face had already been serious, but you noticed how his eyes fell by a fraction. You weren't sure what he expected – after all, you weren't even sure of what you expected. You both simply stood there, his hands in his pockets, your own hand still held out to offer him that stupid letter. Finally, it fell back down to your side and silence covered the room again like snow. It was cold enough.

 

“So, Jungkook is coming?” A part of you wanted to roll your eyes at his obvious question, but instead you stood still. Eyes unmoving from his face. This might be one of the last times you ever saw it.

 

“I needed his help getting some things.” Sentences had to be under fifteen syllables, apparently. If you were to say anything more, you weren't sure if you would ever stop. Quiet again. A car went by. Was time standing still?

 

“Well, I'll let you... Get to it, then.” He flinched, you saw the man visibly flinch, and for a moment you felt just a bit more powerful. Chin jutted out by an inch. Letter went back into the pocket of your jeans.

 

“See you around.” This was hard. You knew it was going to be, but this was the kind of pain that a thousand ripped off bandaids could never compare to. He turned to go with a small nod, and you couldn't help yourself. “Wait,” you started again, and he turned quicker than you thought he would. Fingers played with the hem of your sweater as heart decided to start beating so fast it was like you were about to play in the Olympics.

 

“Yeah, Y/N?” God, you wished that he wouldn't say your name anymore. He didn't _deserve_ to. He lost the right to let it fall from his lips like it belonged to him. You paused. Brain rebooted. You started again.

 

“Is the letter going to hurt?” You felt like a child for asking, but you wanted to prepare yourself. Maybe get a bottle of wine, lock the doors, turn off your phone. If you were going to cry, you wanted to get ready for it. He always made fun of the way you scheduled your cries – bought your favorite bottle of wine and perfectly paired pint of ice cream, got Netflix ready with your favorite movie, and set aside three hours for it. He almost smiled, and you had a feeling that it was because he was thinking about the same thing.

 

“That seems like a pretty **subjective** question, y'know. I don't want to answer that.” You almost scoffed. Of course he didn't. You knew the hardest thing for him to give you was a straightforward answer. But you bit your tongue, and that was truly character growth, before you simply nodded. He adjusted the strap of the bag on his shoulder. Paused his movements. You thought that maybe he was going to say more before he simply offered you a small smile. In just a few short seconds, he was out of sight once more. The door closed behind him. This time, you knew it was for good.

 

Jungkook found you twenty minutes later in the same spot in the living room, but you had decided to sit shortly after you found yourself alone. The numbness had set in again because you felt like you had stepped out of the Twilight Zone. Maybe you had hallucinated – he surely didn't just so happen to drop by on the day you were here. It was too coincidental. You were obviously losing your mind.

 

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N, what's going on? You have, like, a thousand chairs... Why the floor?” His voice came from above you but there was no part of you that wanted to use the energy to look up. Instead, your eyes stayed fixated on your mug. Nothing special, it was white porcelain, but there was a chipped part on the lip of it that you had been studying since he left. There was nothing else worth doing at the moment, anyhow. Finally, you felt a hand on the top of your head before rustling was heard and your friend had decided to sit down next to you. He didn't say anything. You appreciated it. Finally, your mouth opened.

 

“He was here.” Your voice was small, barely audible, but you knew that the other had no problem hearing it. More quiet. It was starting to hurt. But what could Jungkook say to you that would make you feel better? What words did he have stored that could possibly provide peace? The love of your life had just left you alone in this house for the second time this month. You didn't like repeat occurrences. And just like that, that bit of control you had over your own emotions began to ebb away. You didn't notice that tears had begun to fall from your eyes before a pair of steady hands came up to wipe them away from your cheeks. Two more fell. Another two. Your vision was a bit blurry and then suddenly, it was like a hurricane took over your chest. Breaths got shorter, and your ability to inhale and exhale was becoming more difficult. You knew that this was a panic attack but you refused to treat it as such -- you refused to believe that this was happening. That Namjoon was probably walking to wherever the hell he was staying and you were on the floor of your home crying your eyes out.

 

You don't know how much time was spent with your head buried in Jungkook's chest as you simply cried, but by the time you were done, the house was dark enough that you desperately needed to flip a light switch to be able to see. And you were tired down to your bones, your throat just a bit raw from the sobs. You didn't feel lighter. You didn't feel like sleeping. You didn't feel anything at all except for the painful drumming of your heart, like a needle was being pushed further into it with every passing beat. Finally, you pulled yourself away from your friend and the two of you stood up, your own hand rising gracefully to brush away any stray drops of water that lingered on your skin.

 

“Let's just... Get what we need and leave, okay?” You almost said that after, you would go home. But where was that now? Was home a person or a place? Either way, you felt like you barely had either. You were left with this empty shell of a townhouse and a hole right in the middle of your body where a taller man used to fit so perfectly. Now, you were grasping at empty air. Jungkook was quiet as the two of you grabbed what you needed – clothes, toiletries, legal and financial papers. You had forgotten about the coffee he had bought you and the tea you had made yourself, but with a stern look from your friend you decided to down the espresso drink in one go. Anything just to make people stop looking at you like that. You were in the process of putting your shirts into your suitcase when you noticed that the man was in the room with you.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, pausing as fingers brushed over a blue sweater.

 

“I'm not sure I'm ever going to want to talk about it, Kookie,” you admitted solemnly, adding a shrug before continuing your task. He moved to sit down on the bed. On HIS side of the bed. Eyes snapped up to watch him before you commanded your body to relax.

 

“It's okay to let it out, Y/N. I'll be here whenever you're ready.” He leaned over, gave your hand a squeeze, and then he was helping with the suitcase before taking it outside to his car. You were alone in the house again, this time with the glow of the lamplight to keep you company. Everything looked pristine, like a house on the market. Everything inside was simply for show, not a soul spending its days or nights in it. A house without love wasn't a home at all, you quietly noted before flicking off the light to the bedroom and making your way downstairs. Lights off in the kitchen. Lights off in the living room.

 

You didn't leave the house – not yet, at least. Hand lingered on the door knob and you turned around to look at the dark interior, eyes struggling just a bit to see. A part inside of you wanted to crawl into that bed and go to sleep, as if everything would change in the morning. You would wake up to the smell of a dark roast coffee (for such a genius, he refused to believe the truth that light roast had more caffeine) and the sound of his pen clicking methodically against a notebook. You remembered the first few years together, how easy it was to wake the other with kisses and promises and breakfast and laughter. It was funny to think that all of it could disappear to the point where you forgot those things ever happened at all. Teeth bit into your bottom lip as you fought that harsh feeling of a hand squeezing your heart to the point of bursting. You refused to give into the panic. You weren't sure when you would be in this house next, but you were almost certain that this was going to be the last time it would feel peaceful. There weren't any screams or cries anymore. No distrust. No fights, no tears, no loss. **No life.** It was just an empty house. You turned the knob, turned your back on your home.

 

“Goodbye, Namjoon.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: this is gonna hurt like a mf. the chapters will be out of chronological order, but when they're all posted i will let y'all know the order they go in if you would like to read it from true beginning to end. i hope you like it!


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